What Editors Think of Writers

It fell to me to edit this illustrious triumvirate for the magazine, a very different task with each writer. Auden, who was jovially insouciant, handed in smart but sloppy stuff that needed a lot of editing, which he readily and gratefully accepted. Trilling was more difficult. Always by telephone, one went over proposed changes, some of which, after some discussion, he accepted, some not.

Barzun, however, one was not allowed to edit. Everything, down to the last comma, had to be left as it was, even where — an admitted rarity — improvement was possible. When we spoke on the phone, I could conjure up my interlocutor. He was undoubtedly smiling his frosty smile, one part convivial and two parts condescending. Since he was tall, the smile, when delivered in person, would literally descend upon you, accompanying an elegant diction that itself had a sort of smile in it.

I wonder if this story could provide a kind of rough Taxonomy of Authorial Character. Maybe each of us is an Auden, a Trilling, or a Barzun. (My guess is that editors work with some similar scheme but never share it with us writers.)

I’m definitely a Trilling. I work very hard to get the prose of my articles and books right, so I am skeptical of alterations, though if they’re explained to me clearly I usually accept them. And I’ve always been blessed to work with editors who understand and accept my being insistent on some points — I can’t remember ever being truly at loggerheads with an editor. (Jody Bottum once told me that he and John Wilson had decided that how difficult I was to deal with depended on whether I was having trouble with my chronic bad back. This is probably true.)

As a Trilling — the character in the middle — I understand the Barzun kind of writer, but struggle to accept the Auden type. I’ve only ever edited one book, on which I worked with my colleague Ken Chase, and in general it was a pleasant experience. But one of the essays — I shall of course never reveal which one — came to us in shocking condition, full of typos and incoherent sentences and undocumented (or incompletely or inaccurately documented) citations. Ken and I probably spent more time on that essay than all the others combined, and it seemed to me then, and seems to me now, that to send an essay to editors in that condition was both unprofessional and arrogant. I’m your editor, not your servant, I thought. But I suppose real professional editors have that thought at least once a day….

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11 Responses to What Editors Think of Writers

Well, being definitely an (mildly, I hope) Auden style writer I’m kind of crushed to hear that it’s a sign of arrogance. All I can say, I don’t FEEL arrogant, and I frankly wonder, if every writer was a Barzun or even a Trilling type, why would we need editors?

I do work on my articles (nothing literary, just specialized research articles) but I find that no matter how many times I read something there will be lots of typos I won’t catch. I think it’s because through dint of lots of reading, at this point, particularly with things in my field, I more skim than really read.

I always feel very grateful when an article of mine comes back with all kinds of comments and suggestions. In academic writing, in particular, that happens very rarely.

Chris, it you’re actually trying to catch typos then I don’t think you qualify as an Auden type. Arrogance of the type I’ve described doesn’t come from making mistakes, but from not caring whether you make mistakes and expecting other people to clean up after your carelessness.

It’s not arrogant for an Auden to behave like an Auden: I can tolerate messy copy as long as the author knows he needs help and accepts it gratefully. What’s arrogant is when an Auden behaves like a Trilling. No editor can take the time to argue over mixed metaphors or teach remedial grammar and logic.

Dr. Jacobs – The follow-up comment is helpful b/c I think I’d classify myself as an Auden b/c I’d say I probably accept 8 out of 10 proposed edits and only fuss about one or two of them. I’m also a diehard believer in the idea that no project is ever finished, you just hit your deadline. So unless I’m extremely unhappy with a project, I don’t have a problem turning in an essay that I’m not totally happy with. If there’s something big, I negotiate the deadline or pull an all-nighter. But if it isn’t, I tend to figure “I’ll hand it in and the editor and I can figure it out together–two is better than one, etc.”

Other interesting thing–when I read the description of the three writers, my thought is that Barzun is the arrogant one because he won’t accept edits suggested to him by his editor. To me, that says “I know better than the person who makes a living editing.” Which strikes me as arrogant. But I can see why the Auden type could come off that way too.

Decades ago I edited a now-long-defunct journal. During its life I received only two or three submissions that needed no adjustment at all. Although no submission arrived in Auden-like condition, many had real problems. I long had enjoyed the work of Mel Bradford and was dismayed to see that his writing included sentence fragments and other easily-spotted errors. I came to realize that some well-respected writers wouldn’t be nearly so well respected if what went to print was actually what they had written.

I don’t suppose there’s any correlation between the type and the handwriting? I don’t know what Trilling’s or Barzun’s handwriting looked like, but I can hardly imagine them being anything other than neat and tidy. Auden’s handwriting, on the other hand…

As someone who has done a fair bit of professional editing (albeit more in business and academic contexts than in literary ones), I definitely recognize the types. Other editors may well differ on this point, but I’d rather work with an Auden type than a Barzun type any day. It takes longer, and obviously has its frustrating moments (“you can’t *possibly* think that’s what a semi-colon is for…can you?”), but it also gives me a bit of room for creativity, and if the author is amiable it can almost feel like a collaboration of sorts. Furthermore, I come out of the experience feeling like I’ve done good work and received respect for doing so.

Working for a Barzun type, on the other hand, gets discouraging very quickly indeed. For one thing, it feels like a waste of time: if the changes will never make it to a next draft, why am I spending my time making them? It can also be demeaning: some authors seem to positively enjoying making it clear that they are the important people with valuable things to say, while editors are basically unenlightened office drones. The idea that an editor might actually see something they missed just doesn’t compute.

Again, these are just my feelings. I can certainly appreciate Dr. Jacobs’s dismay at having to deal with an author who didn’t seem to bother trying, and I do get seriously irritated with writers who are careless about things like references and documentation. I don’t mind cleaning up hastily-written prose; I do mind it when authors have little apparent respect for their content, let alone their readers. It’s also possible that I would be less offended by a Barzun type who was a genuinely talented writer. In my experience, Barzun-ish attitudes and literary talent aren’t always a package deal.

Anyone frustrated by the problem of editors who introduce new errors into the text? I’ve encountered several copy editors with bizarre and idiosyncratic misunderstandings of English. One editor thought that there should never be an imperative in the text (such as “Consider the following idea…”), and he insisted on taking them out. The same editor changed every occurrence of “that” to “which” (e.g., “the idea that was discussed above” changed to “the idea which was discussed above”), in direct contravention of the Chicago Manual of Style’s recommendation. He refused to change them back.

Another copy editor changed the phrase “something like the following” to “something like as follows”. I found myself explaining that “like” is a preposition. The editor apparently thought that “the following” was an error because “following” means “a group of people who follow some person or idea”. So I had to explain that “the following” actually means “that which follows”.

Some editors automatically remove all contractions. Many have other arbitrary rules that they apply mechanically without regard to the context or readability.

In my last book, I tried to get the publisher to assign me no copy editor, but they assigned one anyway. It worked out alright, since the editor was reasonable and didn’t do too much. But in my experience, copy editors introduce more errors than they correct, and it’s just an unnecessary layer of work.

Of course, I know that they are necessary for most writers. They’re just not helpful in the case where the author has a better understanding of the language than the editor but the editor doesn’t realize it.

If you’re a journalist, freelancer, or the like, I suggest an editor is there to approve your idea, tell you your word count, and set the deadline. It’s the writer’s job to write to the editor’s specifications and see that the copy is as error-free as possible. Once the copy is turned in, it is up to the editor to find typos, tell the writer whether the piece needs to be cut or beefed up based on unforeseen layout changes, and perhaps suggest another assignment. And it’s very nice for an editor to praise the piece. A writer who has truly written to specs and has writing chops will not have to change anything. I would hope an editor would be grateful for such work; unfortunately there are those with the modus operandi of the guard in “Cool Hand Luke” who has Paul Newman digging and re-digging a ditch.

Hmmm…I’m definitely an Auden, and a poor proofreader of my own work, although I do try. My take on this is that if you view Auden-ness as a fundamental barrier, you won’t accept my work, and life will go on, but if you deem the workload of working with me worth it, there’s not much point in trying to change me into a different kind of writer.

Having worked as an editor, I’d much rather make corrections than spend hours negotiating with an author who thinks that every word that flows from him was bestowed on high by Yahweh, but I recognize that the type is just part of the job.

And yes, Michael, I have the same problem – particularly with copy editors with little experience working in my particular field, (environmental, energy and agricultural issues) who edit incorrectly because they aren’t familiar with the correct terminology – changing “varietal” to “variety” or assuming that the name of a breed is misspelled.

I also fight in every book over the use of “They” as a gender neutral singular pronoun and at least once over “Cannot help but…” which is simply annoying.